


Respect

by Astharoze



Category: Dishonored
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6483148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astharoze/pseuds/Astharoze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daud doesn't do regret- but he does, strangely, do fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a big fan of one-word titles, does it show  
> Anyway I saw this prompt over on the kinkmeme on Tumblr and wanted to take it, really suddenly! So here ya go. 60% feels, 40% Daud puts his mouth everywhere.
> 
> Prompt: Daud worships Corvo’s body, and he makes him come with just his tongue.

It’s an anniversary. There are several, which Daud has picked out in red ink on his own mind, scrawled permanently in his memory so he won’t forget what he’s done and who he’s wronged, or how he’s righted it. Every important date is seared into his subconscious like a brand on his history, from the day he got his mark to the one where Corvo spared his life. His existence is a series of memories and choices, according to the Outsider. Each one of them is precious to him.

Daud doesn’t do regret. He doesn’t harbor sentimentality in his patched and calloused mockery of a heart, doesn’t sit up at nights thinking about all the deeds he’s done. What’s done is done, his history is stone, he prefers it that way. There are more important things to sit up at night worrying about, for an assassin.

Regrets, no. But respect is another thing. Daud pays his respects, and even the black-eyed deity can’t deny Daud shows it to those who deserve it. Those who have given him what he can’t return or deny. Those who are worthy of a stayed hand or a considerate word from a man so withholding of both all his life. 

When Daud kneels in the shadows of the balcony off Attano’s room, it’s to hide his form from anyone who has the sense to look. Corvo lets him in, a glass in his hand with two fingers of whiskey rolling around in the bottom, and they don’t talk about it. He guides the Royal Protector backwards against the bed and vows to make him think of anything but the day Daud got him sent to prison and took away the last person Corvo wanted. It’s the least he can do.

So when Daud kneels at Corvo’s feet and takes the glass from his hand, he bows his head and waits for permission. To be allowed to pay his respects. 

That isn’t to say he doesn’t toss back that inch and a half of something strong and roll the glass away.

When he feels fingers card through his hair, just to force it out of how it’s neatly combed and slicked back, he goes to work on laces and belts and straps. He waits for moments of give, for the tide to ebb back just enough for him to step deeper under the water until he can safely drown all at once. 

Boots come off first, and he makes a sound of irritation as Corvo pulls at his coat, at his gloves, demanding them off before he’s allowed to strip the man further. He doesn’t intend on taking another thing off, wants to stay on his knees and devote his attention to the Royal Protector, but Corvo has to open his mouth and speak, break apart the moment so they can both breathe.  
“Not wasting any time tonight, are you?” He rasps, voice already edging over into something sweet and raw. Daud likes him wanting. 

Daud would’ve preferred to drown. Instead he grins, sharp like his blade.

“What’s the matter, Attano? Want me to bring you flowers, serenade you..?”

“Void, no--” and he’s laughing, tugging at Daud’s scalp while his deep red coat and heavy leather gloves fall to the floor with a whisper and a thump. He smirks lazily up at the guardian as he rolls his sleeves back, and Corvo’s brow arches, curiosity painted over his face. The assassin could hardly care, he bats his knees open and gets at the hem of his pants, tugging them down his hips and over his thighs without much grace. 

“Good,” Daud growls out and sits up just enough to give Corvo’s shoulder a shove, send him sprawling backwards as he pulls his slacks off the rest of the way. Socks next, and the buttons on his shirt would be ripped off if Daud thought for a moment Corvo would expend the effort to have it fixed. But he won’t. So Daud takes his time and eases each button loose, guiding it off of scarred and mottled flesh until Corvo is laid bare and laid back, eyelids heavy as he actually, truly relaxes. 

Daud starts at his knees, kissing the skin there gently in warning before he nibbles and bites his way up Corvo’s thighs. He feels a tremor course through the skin under his lips, feels the muscle tense and relax as the Royal Protector fists the sheets and resigns himself to whatever Daud’s planning. And Daud is only planning to make it last and find every inch of skin that makes the other marked man shudder. 

Over his knee cap he traces kisses and knows Corvo’s holding his breath. His palms slide over Corvo’s thighs, knuckles dragging against his cock. Thick, hot, but not full as it lays over the crease of his thigh and his body-- he feels another satisfying shudder and Daud settles for just holding his hips down as he explores the man’s thighs. His arms are under Corvo’s legs, keeping him steady with calves over Daud’s shoulders while he presses a kiss every two inches. 

His hands are spread wide, covering the sharp lines of Corvo’s hip bones, and he wants to kiss those too, but the deep river-and-soap smell of Corvo’s thighs keeps him still. More kisses, and he can feel how he’s making a mess of the man’s thighs against his cheeks-- there’s a shaking gasp as he sucks a mark a few spare inches closer. There, that’s what he likes. Another bruise, another kiss, another trail of his tongue along sensitive skin. He tastes like sweat and dirt and penance. Daud leans back, kisses his way down one of Corvo’s legs, till he’s pressing his lips to the bone of his ankle and staring up into black eyes that bore into him with confusion, anger, remorse. 

They don’t need to talk about it. They know.

Daud shifts his kisses to the other leg and inches his way back up. There’s a place on the back of Corvo’s left knee that makes him buck on the bed, his cock red and flushed and curved against his belly where he shifts and growls out Daud’s name. He’s panting when Daud finds his hip with his lips and nibbles at the bone, draws the flat of his tongue over the ridge of it and avoids the thick black line of hair that trails down from his waist. He kisses a scar on Corvo’s belly, a deep and angry white line that he digs his teeth into and makes the man shake. 

It’s wet and he feels the man above him panting, sees his arms fold up over his chest. A quick glance and he can see Corvo’s covering his mouth, a hand in his hair-- his eyes are wet. 

Daud’s hand darts out to grip the wrist of Corvo’s left.

He pulls it down to his face and laves his tongue over the arrow of black lines on the back of his hand. 

Corvo howls. 

Attano bites down on his thumb and Daud sucks his own mark over the Outsider’s. It doesn’t cover, doesn’t compete with the permanent blackness that’s on both their skin, but it adds a purple depth to the center of it. There’s a shock of something electric and deadly on his tongue, and he knows the same feeling is surging through Corvo’s body.

Daud pins Corvo’s hands and arches up to kiss over his chest. Up his sternum, each rib, every dip and scar and bruise and the place his ribs were broken that didn’t heal entirely right, the dip of his collarbone-- he feels Corvo’s dick pressed to the thigh of his slacks and doesn’t care, doesn’t slow. Just sucks a mark into his collarbone, kisses his throat, dodges Corvo’s mouth and traces his lips down shoulders. Attano is shaking on the bed, eyes closed. Neither of them take tenderness well. It lays them bare.

When Daud flicks the tip of his tongue over Corvo’s nipple he groans, hair fanned out beautifully under him, and Daud thinks he sees a little of why the Outsider chose them both. Corvo is stunning. Daud was moreso in his youth, but Corvo is -now-, at forty and change, body tapered and perfected. 

The Knife of Dunwall might be praying, somewhere deep in the back of his mind. But it’s not to the Outsider and it’s certainly got nothing to do with Strictures. 

Corvo’s pulling at his wrists and muttering something as Daud kisses his way back down, and this time he just -breathes- over the hot, red flesh that the marked man is dying to have touched. Tongue first, then a kiss, then he presses his nose to Corvo’s belly and flicks his tongue over the slit. Nothing deep, nothing heavy. Just the flat of it up the side, mouth open. Hot breath on cool skin. Corvo makes a broken, sobbing sound and Daud knows there are patches of skin all over his body that tingle in the cool night air.

He lets go of Corvo’s hands and they dart to his hair, Daud gets one tight, rock hard thigh over his shoulder and spreads Corvo open to slide his tongue against the darker skin of Corvo’s hole. The sound of wet skin and breathless gasping fills the room as the Royal Protector hisses his name in contempt, in need, in relief. 

This is where Daud belongs, on his knees to worship at the only altar he’s ever given his faith to-- respect, remorse, commiseration in the darkness of Dunwall. The kind of understanding there can be between those who’ve followed their path of bloodshed and hard choices. 

His tongue slips in and rolls against his walls, eases out and his hand goes tight on Corvo’s thigh as he keeps up a pace. His body rolls and goes tight, arches, cock a gorgeous arc from his hips as he shudders and gasps for more. His words are laced with more feelings than Daud is willing to put a name to, growling his name and pulling at his hair, calling him a bastard and a demon and Daud stays there, lapping at his skin. 

When Corvo’s voice goes high, Daud slips out and presses his tongue hard against the slick, taut skin of his perineum. His body bends like a bow, a ragged sound drawn from his chest that’s barely human and dripping with Void-- Corvo comes and it blinds Daud, as it does when they’re too close in too many ways. His mark burns, tingles on his hand like the day he got it, and Corvo drops to the bed with another dark, roiling sound that kicks Daud in the gut. 

The assassin stands, his hands there to hold Corvo in place on the bed, guiding him up against the only pillow. Daud sits beside him, silent for a long while, waiting for the tide to crash down on him all at once.

It doesn’t. It rolls over him like a sweet waves on a sandy beach and Corvo’s marked hand settles on his thigh in silent possession.

If Daud strips off his boots an hour later to fall asleep next to the Royal Protector, it’s no one’s business but theirs.


End file.
